


Plant Prince

by cascadingwindows



Category: Original Work
Genre: Freeform, Kind of angsty, M/M, but also fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-16 04:59:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11821722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascadingwindows/pseuds/cascadingwindows
Summary: An intro story to get to know my ocs Marshall and Kane that follows Kane's experience dating Marshall, who's got a few issues.





	1. Lavender Rose - Love at First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> So the universe that Kane and Marshall are in normally has got some wild shit going on, so for this story it's just normal to make it a little bit easier.

The faster I bike the less humidity I feel as the summer breeze turns into a nice wind. On the streets next to me cars blare their horns. I pass people chattering and window shopping. Music flows out from little stores tucked into the skyscrapers, but quickly it becomes drowned out by machinery down the road. I add to the cacophony of noise by ringing my bike bell.

“On your right!” I call.

The man I was about to pass didn’t acknowledge me. I push on the pedals to speed past him befores he moves— 

Just as he takes a step to the right.

I yelp and swerve left, ramming into a wooden stand of pots and flowers. I sail over the handlebars, screwing my eyes shut as the concrete rushes at me.

The next time I open my eyes I’m staring at the bright blue sky. I lay splayed out on the sidewalk for a moment, a few chuckles from kids with their parents drifting over to me. My aching palms feel a little wet. The blood in my head pounds the sides of my skull as it tries to settle.

“Oh my god!” A man kneels next to me. His face has small smears of dirt. Poofy hair falls over his bushy eyebrows. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

I give him a lazy smirk. “I am now that you’re here.”

His cheeks flush red. Oh god he’s so cute.

“What the hell, man?” a lady shouts. I lift my head to see a woman run over and try to fix the stand. “My boss is gonna be pissed! Do you even know how much this all costs?”

I sit up to look at the plastic and clay pots around me, tipped over, cracked, and shattered. One of the legs of the stand they were displayed on is a little splintered. Dirt covers me and the concrete. Flowers lay in the mess like bodies on a battlefield, and the weapon of mass destruction was me.

“Uhhh…”

“The pots cost twenty, and that’s just the plastic ones!” the lady quavers, picking up the pots that survived. “And the dirt costs around 40, depending on the kind you need for the flowers. And don’t get me started on the flowers themselves much less the time to properly grow them! We’re already running behind the pre-ordered ones and now we won’t have enough for the people who drop by to-”

“Eliza,” the man next to me says, his voice soft. “How about you go help the other customers? I’ll get this sorted out and clean it up.”

Eliza melts with relief. She takes a deep breath and looks at me. “I’m sorry, sir. I hope you’re all right.” She looks back at the man. “Thanks, Marshall.”

She ruffles his hair, making him smile. She turns around and immediately comes face to face with a lady asking for help. Eliza plasters on the Retail Face and walks the lady to a section of flowers by the display window.

Marshall sighs and turns to me. He holds out his hand, covered in bandages on his fingertips and dirt and callouses. I take it and he hauls me to my feet. I look down at him with a dumb smile.

“Sorry about her,” he says, gesturing to Eliza. “She gets frazzled pretty easily. It’s been a busy day.”

My gut sinks. “I’m sure I just made it a lot worse.”

Marshall waves it off with a little shrug. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Are you okay?”

I look over myself. Dirt, bleeding palms, a skinned knee, aching head. I place my hand over my head, pretending to faint. “Oh no! Someone call an ambulance!”

Marshall snorts and crosses his arms, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Whatever.”

I grin at him and he glances away. His eyes widen.

“Is your stuff okay?”

I look down at my bike balancing on the handlebars, the front wheel spinning. My bag lays on its side in the dirt, one of the buckles popped open.

“Oh shit!” I scramble to pick it up and open it, taking out my camera and turning it over. Luckily, it seems to be just fine. I let out a sigh of relief.

“Are you a photographer?” Marshall asks. He holds his hands behind his back as he leans in a little to look at the camera.

I look up at him. His face is close to mine as he tries to observe the camera. It might be the sun bearing down on us, but my cheeks heat up a little. “Yeah, just- just doing freelance work, though. I was just on my way to my friend’s place from a shoot. He has a computer with a good editing suite that he lets me use.”

“That’s really nice of him. I think photography is really cool! Takes a lot of talent.” Marshall gives me an excited grin that makes my heart float. His dark skin absorbs the sunlight reflecting off the passing cars. His hair rustles in the breeze of the people rushing by. This little flower shop employed the cutest man I have ever seen.

I’m reeling.

“T- Thank you,” I stutter.

“I need to start cleaning this up,” Marshall says, taking a small step away from me.

“Do you need help?”

He looks at me, surprised. “N- No, I’ll be good.”

“You sure? I could pay for the broken stuff.”

He rubs his arm. “It’s a lot of money…”

“I’ll go buy it,” I press. “Give me a list of what I need to get.”

Marshall looks a little guilty, but he heads into the store. Through the window I watch him write something down by the register. Eliza says something to him and he frowns, rolling his eyes. The people passing by stare at me standing alone in the middle of the dirt. I squint at them, smirking when they look shocked and hurry away.

Marshall steps back out with a little slip of paper. He folds it neatly and hands it to me. “Eliza made me write down absolutely everything that you broke because she’s worried about not having enough stuff, but I starred what you actually need to get.”

I bow as I take the paper. “Anything for you, my prince.”

Marshall holds his arm and looks away, face bright red. “Um, I need to get working.”

“Of course, sorry,’’ I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

“It’s okay.” He grabs my bike and pushes it over to me. “Stay safe.”

I shoot him with my finger guns. “Will do.”

He gives me a little nod and scurries off into the store, dashing past the register and into a back room. I smile a little and look at the paper. I frown. His handwriting is absolute chicken scratch. I can’t read any of it. I think there’s an ‘a’ but maybe it’s an ‘o’ for ‘pot’. I look back at the store, eyes narrowed.

I see what he’s doing, that sneaky little man. Can’t read the list, can’t buy the stuff that’s on it. I look back at the paper and stare at it a little longer, trying to decipher just one thing. Man, he really doesn’t want me to pay for the damages...

There are little stars next to some words though.


	2. Peony - Bashfulness and Compassion

Brake lights turn on ahead of me, making me snap back to reality. I force my hands to relax and stop holding the steering wheel in a death grip. With a deep breath, I practice what to say.

“Heyyy,” I drawl out with a toothy grin.

I shake my head. I can’t start like that, I sound like an asshole.

“Oh hi, I didn’t realize I’d be picking you up-”

I stop myself. His name is on the notification. It literally says ‘Marshall needs a pickup’ not ‘This random dude needs a ride if you want his name you gotta ask’.

“Hey, Marshall,” I start. “Sorry about wrecking part of your flower shop-”

Nope. Don’t wanna mention that, it’s embarrassing enough on its own. I purse my lips as I think. I don’t need to fluff it up, it’s not like I’m trying to convince him to save the universe, it’s just a question.

“Hello, you’re really cute and I was wondering if I could have your number.”

Nice. Straight to the point. No fluff needed.

It’ll be fine.

My phone pings. "Your destination is on the right."

On the screen the little arrow disappears and an info tab pops up. I pull over to the curb and stop a safe distance from the stand of flowers, now full of pots and plants again. I stare at it, then look at my palms. Some tiny stray scars are still healing, and they don’t mind being a constant reminder of how humiliating yet lucky it was to meet Marshall like that. 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

"Okay, whatever. Just... Get the question out there at some point. No need to force conversation."

I look at myself in the rearview mirror. I bare my teeth, scratching at them to get any weird spots off. I mess with my hair, fluffing up the short fuzzy strands. I brush red sweat off of my forehead. I look at it on my fingers and sigh, wiping the rest off of my face. I really need to find better hair dye.

I look up to see Marshall hovering around the door to the shop. He glances at the cars parked on the side and sees mine, turning to Eliza. She says something and he grins before stepping outside and walking towards the car. I smile a little and grab my phone to type in the new address. He climbs into the backseat and buckles up. 

I stare at the address. “Northwood Hills?”

“Yeah.”

I look at Marshall and frown.

He's resting his elbow on the side of the door, chin in his hand. His mouth is downturned, eyes distant, slowly shifting as he watches the people passing on the sidewalk. My chest feels a little heavier as I pull into traffic. 

For a while we slowly creep forward in the busy lanes. I feel sweat drip down my forehead again. I roll down my window a little more, trying to feel any type of wind to help cool off.

“Sorry about the AC,” I say. “I’m working on fixing that.”

“It’s no problem,” he mutters.

My face tenses up at his vacant tone. I keep glancing back at him. His hair drifts in the sluggish breeze, his face still and taut.

“Long day?” I ask.

He shrugs. “A little bit.”

The radio quietly plays an advertisement.

"What do you like to listen to?"

Another shrug. "Whatever's on."

I nod slowly. Well, this isn’t working. We sit in silence with the radio playing some indie song. I turn it up so it plays over the growing white noise of wind as we hit the highway. 

Northwood Hills roams around in my head. He lives in one of the richest neighbourhoods in the city? I glance back at Marshall a few times, trying to get a good look at him without being obvious. He seems… normal? Work shirt, jeans. Maybe he’s one of the humble rich guys. There’s not many of those. Or maybe he’s a minimalist or something, they’re usually pretty chill, and Marshall seems…

Sad.

"Rerouting."

I look at my phone.

“Damn."

Another fifteen minutes is added to the time. The map shows the never-ending highway out of the city. The next exit isn’t for miles and the only way to turn around is always hell to go through. I let out a big sigh.

"Soooo, I hope you're not on a time limit," I say.

He looks at me, taking his arm off the door. "Well, kinda. Did you miss a turn?"

"Yeah, super missed it."

Marshall glances at my phone, then actually looks out the window, eyes focusing on the surroundings and the signs. I stiffen. If he’s rich he must not be used to shitty drivers.

"That's okay."

I deflate. "Oh."

He looks at me. "What? Thought I was gonna yell at you?"

"Kinda."

He huffs a little laugh and sits back in the seat, reaching into his bag and pulling out a pair of smudged browline glasses, slipping them on. He looks out the window, eyes now focusing and glancing everywhere, observing. His body relaxes as he wraps his arms around the little backpack. His shoulders slouch, face lifting just enough to look a little more neutral. He must really not want to go home.

I keep an eye on my phone, making sure I don’t miss the exit when it finally appears. I turn down one street and then the next, crawling up the winding asphalt hills filled with expensive homes and trees shoved into the tiny yards to make them look pretty. I wonder how many people here actually care about anything, or if they just sit around being rich and artificial. 

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” my phone says.

I slow to a stop in front of an empty, tall driveway. The house towers above everything else as it sits atop the hill, but the giant trees next to it hide it with layers of shade, making it beautifully eerie.

Marshall sits for a second and gazes up at the house. His eyebrows are turned up in such a way that just above them is a little crease of worry. My heart sinks as I try to think of something that’ll make that crease go away.

I turn around to face him, a smug smile on my face. “What's one drink that everyone wants but can't swallow?” 

He hikes his bag over his shoulder as he prepares to leave. “What?”

“Reali-tea.”

He looks at me, a big smile growing on his face. My heart flutters as the crease moves from his forehead to the corners of his eyes as he chuckles. It turns into a silly laugh and he covers his mouth to stop himself. He opens the door and climbs out, leaning back down to say a chirpy, “Thank you.”

I nod and he shuts the door.

I watch him slowly walk up the driveway, eyes glued to his phone. When he reaches the door I slam my head against the wheel and groan. I can’t believe I made him late.

My phone dings and I look up. Marshall rated the drive.

Five out of five and a comment.

“Might make you late, but his jokes and good looks pay it off.”

My face heats up.

God, I’m so bad at first impressions

And second ones too, apparently.

But also holy shit he thinks I look good. I look in the mirror, peering at the dye that’s been stuck to my scalp for days. My heart is racing.

I look over and Marshall slides his phone into his pocket as he walks through the door.

I stare at where he stood, something tugging at the back of my mind. I pull away from the house and turn the corner to go home. The tires roll onto the bridge leading the suburbs and my heart sinks into my stomach. I forgot to ask for his number. I was finally able to see him again and I missed my chance. I slump into the seat, sighing as I stop the car, becoming trapped in rush hour traffic.


	3. Jonquil - Affection Returned

“God, Kane,” Hunter complains. The freckles on his nose scrunch up as he (probably) feigns disgust. “I get you’re lonely as fuck, but just find someone and get some. It can’t be that hard, you being you.”

“Nah, he’s got a crush,” Ringo chimes in. I glare at him. He rests his chin in his hands like a piece of shit thinking they’re gonna get some drama. “It’s that flower shop boy, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I didn’t notice.” Hunter rolls his eyes. “He’s only been talking about him for weeks. You met him like, once.”

“Twice,” I correct, holding up two fingers. “And he’s cute as hell and I just want to talk to him again.”

“What!?” Ringo cries. “Kane doesn’t wanna bang someone? Who are you?”

I shrug. “I mean, it’d be nice…”

He smirks like he won something. “I knew it.”

Hunter and I look at each other and shake our heads. Hunter goes back to me. “You could just, you know, go to the flower shop and see if he’s working that day.”

I scrunch up into an awkward ball, my shoulders raising to my ears. “That’s weird though! What if he’s not working and then I’m just hanging around the shop like an idiot? Also it’s like, a high class shop, so me walking in with bright red hair is weird enough much less with my grungy “Jesse Rutherford” type shit that you keep saying I-”

“You’re a skinny prick just like him and you have the same style!” Hunter yells, defensive, his hands slapping on the table.

Ringo perks up. “Wait, don’t you have a crush on him?”

I give Hunter a sleazy grin. Hunter screams, frantic and embarrassed. He punches Ringo’s shoulder, who stumbles back laughing. I roll my eyes and sigh.

“Listen, I just don’t wanna look desperate.”

“Even though you are?” Ringo teases, rubbing his arm.

“Shut up.” I pause, then look at Hunter. “Also, if anything,  _ Ringo _ is the skinny prick.”

“Whatever,” Hunter grumbles. He takes a sip of his drink, swallows, and starts coughing.

Ringo and I watch in alarm as he hacks up a lung. He sticks out his tongue and lifts up a piece of long blue hair. He glares at Ringo, who shrugs and flips his hair like a model. Hunter grunts, flicking the strand away and muttering what sounded a curse on Ringo.

The table wobbles when Ringo bumps into it as he’s wiggling to the music playing, elbowing Hunter to join him. I stare at Ringo’s hair, watching it flop around. He catches me watching him and gasps obnoxiously loud.

“Aw, Kane! Do you have a crush on me too?”

I smirk and shake my head. “You wish. I was just wondering what dye you use. Mine keeps bleeding. Looks like I murdered someone in the shower.”

He opens his mouth to respond as another song begins. The word he starts becomes an excited squeal and he holds Hunter’s shoulders, staring him in the eye.

“We have to dance! By the speakers!”

“No way! My hearing is gonna go if we dance that close again.”

Ringo hops up and down. The song is building up to the chorus. “Oh c’mon, you old man,” he begs, starting to tug on Hunter’s arm. Hunter groans as he’s pulled away into the crowd, becoming hidden by the seas of bodies. 

Okay, well I guess I’ve gotta find someone to dance with. I look around the club and the world grows a little bigger. The music is so loud my whole body shudders with the bass as it rips through the floor. Colorful lights flash to the beat. I cross my arms and lean on the table, swishing the little bit of drink I have left. I scope out the crowd, seeing way too many people that catch my eye. A girl by the DJ shaking her shoulders, another one by the bar. Two guys are jumping around and laughing by the speakers— Oh, that’s Hunter and Ringo. I glance away and continue looking for someone. The barista isn’t too bad, but it’s not like I can dance with him. In the center of the crowd there’s some hunk dirty dancing with…

Marshall.

I spin around and scamper to the bar. The heart in my throat makes my voice weak as I order another drink. While I wait I look back at Marshall.

His back is facing the man he’s dancing with. He shakes his hips, leans against him, the man’s height and big chest making Marshall look so small. Marshall reaches up behind him to hold onto the man’s neck, practically grinding on the guy. The man just stares, absently moving to the music. Marshall flips around and weaves his fingers together behind the guy’s neck. They watch each other. The guy clamps his hands on Marshall’s broad hips and finally starts to actually dance with him. Marshall smirks.

“Your drink, sir.”

I turn to see the barista hand me my drink. He winks at me before turning away.

I’m screaming inside.

I look back at Marshall, whose movements are starting to slow down a bit as the song ends. The song changes to another popular one I’ve heard way too many times while driving. People cheer and a few extra groups run to the dance floor. They crowd my line of sight to Marshall and my heart sinks back to my chest, finally letting me breathe. I take a sip of my drink.

“Just a beer, please.”

I almost spit out my drink.

Turning around, I see Marshall sitting a few seats down from me. I blink and he’s still there. Man, he got out of that crowd fast. The guy he was with isn’t by him. I could totally talk to him right now, but I just kind of want to… watch. He looks pretty in these lights. The colors dance over his skin.

A slimy man walks up to Marshall. His hair is slicked back and tied into a shitty ponytail. His smile as he looks at Marshall is all teeth. I can smell the alcohol on him from where I am and my gut twists. He wraps his arm around Marshall’s waist. Marshall grimaces.

The guy starts talking to him, getting real close and in his space. I look around for the guy Marshall was with earlier, who was nowhere to be seen. I turn to find the barista, hoping he can help. We make eye contact and his expression darkens when he looks from me to the guy by Marshall.

A high-pitched sound strikes my ears and I flinch. I turn to see Marshall standing, the slimy guy holding the side of his face, now bright red in the shape of a hand. Marshall turns around and walks away. I scramble for my wallet and slam down some money, but when I look up for Marshall, he’s already gone.

What? Does he have teleportation powers or something?

I rush around the outskirts of the dancefloor looking for him before I just go outside. The midnight wind makes the hair on my neck stand on end. I look up and down the street, seeing someone turn down an alleyway.

“Hey!” I call. I run towards them, skidding around the corner. “Marshall!”

The man screams and whirls around, wiping out a shiny knife. I squeal and jump back like a little girl, stereotypical knee up and hands curled into my chest like any other reaction in a shitty horror film.

Marshall lowers his knife, a nervous grin pulling on his lips. He flips the switchblade closed and slips it into his pocket. "S- Sorry. I just wasn't expecting anyone to-"

"Follow you?" I ask, unfurling myself from the fearful position. I rub the back of my head. "Yeah, sorry, that was a bit creepy. I just wanted to talk to you."

Marshall blinks at me.

"Still a little creepy, huh?"

"Yeah, just a bit.”

I heave a nervous sigh. “I mainly wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He widens his eyes. “Oh, um, yeah. I’m fine.”

“It’s just- I saw that gross guy all over you a moment ago,” I blurt. “I was just worried.”

His cheeks grow a little pink and he looks at the ground. “That’s sweet of you, but really, I’m fine.”

“Okay, cool.” I cross my arms over my chest to keep my heart from beating out of it. I hear the blood rush in my ears. “Cool.”

"Hey..." Marshall mutters, staring at me with squinty eyes. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his glasses, slipping them on. He gasps. "You're the guy that ran over my flowers!"

I yelp like the accusation was the knife he almost stabbed me with. "I- I'm so sorry! I'll pay you back, I swear. It’s just your handwriting was absolute-"

“Chicken scratch! I know, I did that on purpose.” Marshall chuckles, putting a hand on his hip victoriously. "I wanted to thank you. Knocking over those flowers meant I got to clean it up and ignore customers for a while."

I gape at him. "Huh?"

He shrugs and rubs his arm. "I just… didn't really want to talk to anyone that day. It was a nice break."

My shoulders relax. I stare at Marshall, who stares at the ground. He looks so beautiful, the rims of his glasses reflecting the neon lights of bar signs and streetlamps, his hair a little ruffled.

"Sooo..." Marshall starts. "Sorry about threatening you with a knife. I need to go home now."

"O- Okay.”

My brain struggles to form literally any type of thought when he looks me in the eyes. Marshall smiles a little and turns around. He walks five steps.

Ten.

Twenty.

He’s almost at the end of the alley. A bus stop sign is posted at the end. An engine down the road rumbles up the street.

My heart riots.

"Wait!"

Marshall jumps and turns to see me bumbling forward. I slow down as I reach him, standing just a little too close, but Marshall gazes up at me anyway.

"Yeah?" he asks.

“Can I... " I take a deep breath. “Can I walk you home?”

Marshall pauses, eyes wide, mouth open. The bus rolls up next to us and stops, the doors opening. Marshall glances inside of it, the driver staring back and waiting. 

"You don't have to say yes!" I blurt. Despite my attempts to calm my nervous mouth it babbles on. "You know, since I ran over your flower stand and scared you in the alley and made a terrible first impression and not to mention making you late when I was your driver also it’s kinda creepy for a stranger to ask to walk you home, ya know? And-"

“Sure.”

I stop. “Really?”

He shrugs. “It’s a little ways, but sure. I have a pocketknife.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “You sure do.”

Marshall waves off the driver, who lets out an irritated breath and closes the doors, driving off. Marshall looks at me and turns to walk. I trot up behind him.

We walk in silence. I think I’m sweating too much for a simple walk, and Marshall walks surprisingly fast for his little legs, which is not helping. We exchange a few glances, both of us looking away like the awkward idiots we are. After a few turns, Marshall speaks.

"You've never told me your name."

I widen my eyes. "Oh! It's uh, Kane."

He smirks. "You don't sound too sure."

I squint at him. "You know, actually, maybe it's Richard."

"Whatever, Dick."

I gawk at him and pause for a second before Marshall gives me a mischievous look. I waggle a finger at him.

"I see what you did there."

He laughs, the sound light and loud. My chest twists up.

"So, Richard," he says. "What do you do that makes you run over flower pots?"

Be distracted by beautiful men.

"I'm just a driver, for full time," I say. "But I'm also a freelance photographer when I have time."

“Oh right, the camera. How’d those pictures turn out?”

“Not too bad. Studios are always nice, but I lean toward natural lighting and backgrounds.”

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “I wish I was good at art.”

"What do you do?"

Marshall gives a heavy sigh. "I work part time at a little store nearby here. And I work at the flower shop full time, but I'm really bad at taking care of the plants. I know almost everything about them, but god, I'm shit at keeping them alive."

I chuckle. "Well, what are you good at?"

"Writing." Marshall pauses in contemplative silence for a moment. "I write. A lot. I don't think I'm too bad, actually, or… sometimes,  which is rare for me to say, but all the publishers I go to turn me away or ask for something that I think is critical to the story to be changed, so my opinion of my writing changes a lot."

"What do they want to change?"

Marshall glares at the ground. "Like if a character is gay they want her straight, even though it's a fucking romance novel and the story revolves around her falling in love with another girl."

I snort. "They wanted to change that?"

Marshall groans in defeat, tossing his head back and throwing his arms up. "Yes! Like how do you say that? They wanted me to rewrite the whole damn book!"

I grin at him. “Can I be your editor? Or do you have one already?”

He gazes up at me, jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“No one has ever asked to be my editor.”

I raise an eyebrow. “No one? What about any of your friends?”

“They’re not really the type...”

“Well, then I declare myself your editor.”

Marshall smiles at me so big his eyes crinkle up and he makes an excited little noise. I chuckle. He starts talking about his stories, trying to see which one I’d want to edit first. They all sound interesting. A romantic drama about two girls, a dystopia with a polyamorous gang who takes care of a superhuman boy, and a crime psychological thriller that takes place in a small town youth hostel.

When I look at him his mind is whirring with passion. I remember him dancing at the club, how easily he moved, how he pretty much became the music. He takes a deep breath and pauses after his ramblings.

“You dance really well,” I say. His cheeks flush and I smirk. “Did you see the guy you were with? He was ogling all over you because of it. Are you just a natural or what?”

He laughs nervously. “Well, I taught myself some medieval partner dances a while ago for another one of my stories. I know a bunch of them, as well as some swing dancing. I guess it’s just a mix of research, practice, and I guess some natural musical talent.”

“Well, whatever it is, it certainly works.”

“Maybe a little too well sometimes.”

I make a disgusted face. “Yeah, that guy that was all over you earlier was so drunk I’m pretty sure his bloodstream became alcohol and his heart was a distillery.”

Marshall chuckles, the sound a little dead. “Yeah… It was a little scary, to be honest.”

His hand brushes over his pocket, the soft outline of his pocketknife. I frown. How many situations was he dragged into that he has to carry that around?

Marshall stops walking in front of a tall, shabby looking apartment complex. I gaze up at it. It stands on its own, two cramped alleys on either side, obviously built quite a while ago. The lights from other buildings look like they’re avoiding it. It definitely seems cheap.

"This is my stop," he says, wandering up to the door.

"Oh, okay."

We stand in silence for a moment.

Marshall turns and reaches for the door to the lobby.

"Can I ask you something?" I blurt.

Marshall quickly takes his hand off the door and looks at me expectantly. "Yeah."

"Can I have your number?"

The corner of his mouth curls up and he nods. I pull out my phone and hand it to him. As he types in his info I shift my weight.

"Can I ask you another question?"

He chuckles. "I think you just did." He hands me my phone. "Go for it.”

Jesus Christ my heart needs to get a speeding ticket.

"Will you go on a date with me?"

He smiles, big and pure. “Yes.”

We stand smiling at each other like fucking nerds.

He breaks away, pointing over his shoulder at the door. “I need to get to my apartment.”

“I’ll call you,” I offer.

He wrinkles up his nose. “I’m not very good on calls…” Then he slouches. “I don’t know why I said yes, I’m so busy all the time.”

I shrug. “Then I’ll text you. We’ll figure out a day that can work. I don’t mind waiting.”

He gives me a soft grin. “Okay. I’ll see you… sometime, then.”

“I’ll see you sometime.”

He opens the door and walks inside the building, disappearing into the dim lit lobby.

My body releases all my pent up energy and I fumble to open my phone, hitting the call button. It dials and rings. The second it’s answered I scream, “Ringo! I’m going on a date with the hottest boy in the world, holy shit! I got the flower boy’s number! We’re gonna  _ date _ !”

He bursts out laughing, and I freeze.

Holy shit I just called Marshall.

He’s howling over the line.

“I’m sorry!” I squawk. “I- I didn’t mean to call you right away, that’s kind of awkward-”

“It’s okay, Kane,” Marshall says, a giggle making his voice waver. “Well, at least I have your number now.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan. “I’ll uh, I’ll text you later.”

“Sure thing,” Marshall chirps.

He hangs up. I take my phone away from my face and stare at the screen, watching it go back to the dial pad, then I screech out an inhuman sound and flip off my phone. I rush to dial Ringo, triple-checking that it’s his name, and hit the call button. When he picks up I wait for him to answer.

“Kane? Dude, where’d you go?”

“Ringo, I made a big mistake!”

“Whoa, what?”

There’s no music behind his voice, but I hear a strange fuzz and footsteps. I’m on speakerphone.

Hunter pipes up. “You can’t disappear and then call and have that be the first thing you say!” he scolds. “We came back to the table and you were gone! Not even in the building!”

I whine, running my hand through my hair as I start walking away from the lobby door. “I know, I’m sorry, it’s nothing bad, I just- You will not believe what stupid fucking thing I did. I’m such an idiot.”

Ringo chuckles. “Well that’s a constant, but go for it.”


End file.
